


Washout

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Can be read as gen or slash, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which an end-of-summer storm puts a literal damper on what would’ve been a milk run mission
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Washout

Napoleon winced in sympathy as lightning illuminated the trapdoor of the underground U.N.C.L.E. safehouse. It was summer’s last gasp before fall took a firm hold upon things, and it had been a gorgeous day so far, the perfect backdrop to a mission that had almost been a milk run—right up until the end, upon which THRUSH had realized they had been the ones responsible for the imminent destruction of their satrap, which was too late for them to stop.

And so, the THRUSHies vented their frustrations by going after them, and so, Napoleon and Illya had to make a hasty retreat into the woods, hidden in the underground safehouse. Their pursuers had run right past them. Time had gone by, and they knew they would have to survey the area to make sure there were no THRUSHies lying in wait, and Illya had volunteered—but no sooner had he left than a flash storm decided to break out at that moment.

Napoleon sighed, pitying his partner’s ill timing. Illya was already soaked by the time he leaned back in to complain, and so he decided he may as well continue.

Lightning flashed again as the trapdoor opened, and Napoleon stood back as Illya clambered down the ladder, bringing in a trail of rainwater in with him. Illya’s clothes and hair were plastered to him, and several leaves, mostly green but some starting to turn into the usual autumn colors, were stuck to him.

“The good news is that there are no THRUSH members in the area,” Illya said. “The bad news is that we wouldn’t get very far in this storm—we shall have to wait it out.”

Napoleon sighed as he heard another boom of thunder.

“Well, we might be here a while,” he said. “And you should take those wet clothes off. Here…” He tossed Illya a pair of THRUSH trousers that he had stolen from the satrap to help his infiltration.

Illya didn’t complain; he tossed his wet clothes aside and put on the dry pants.

“What am I to do about a shirt?”

“I’m afraid I lost that in our escape,” Napoleon said. “But here…”

He removed the brown leather jacket he had been wearing and gently placed it around Illya. The Russian sighed, but allowed him to do it.

Napoleon gave the collar a gentle tug as he made sure the jacket was properly in place.

“Now you can’t say that I wouldn’t give you the shirt off of my back,” he grinned.

Illya groaned and gave him a look.

“Only you would meld an act of altruism with a pun…” he muttered.

“Good—I strive to be one-of-a-kind,” Napoleon returned.

“Oh, you have succeeded in that—don’t worry,” Illya assured him. He then paused. “And make no mistake—I am grateful for it.”

Napoleon, now in a thin, silk shirt, merely grinned again before looking around at their safehouse.

“We may have to spend the night here if that rain doesn’t let up—and it doesn’t look like it has any plans to,” he said. “There’re plenty of provisions, so we won’t go hungry, but there’s no stove or fireplace, so it’s going to be cold rations.”

“At this point, I will be grateful to eat anything edible,” Illya insisted.

“I had a feeling,” Napoleon smirked. He crossed to the couch and opened the box of rations. “Let’s see, would you like a protein bar, a granola bar, or a dried fruit bar?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding about the hunger, hmm?”

“You try walking around in that mess and see how you feel,” Illya insisted, indicating the storm outside.

“I hope that’s hyperbole.”

“You know it is,” Illya said.

“Well, your stomach has earned whatever your heart desires,” Napoleon insisted, placing the selection of ration bars in front of him, while taking a protein bar for himself.

“My heart desires very little,” Illya informed him. “Even here, I have all that I need.”

Napoleon smiled again, giving the leather jacket another tug to keep it in place.

“As weird as it sounds… so do I,” he admitted.

And they ate their less-than-impressive meal together, somehow oddly content.


End file.
